


Teach Your Parents Well, Their Children's Hell Will Slowly Go By

by escape_thefuture



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Family Feels, Five is FOURTEEN and bad stuff happened to him, Five's had a really rough time, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Panic Attacks, Please read warnings/tags, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Therapy, Young Number Five | The Boy, his siblings care but are kind of idiots as usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escape_thefuture/pseuds/escape_thefuture
Summary: So, pipsqueak," Klaus ignores Five’s protesting noise, "are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, or will I have to find a way to lure it out of your lovely therapist?”“How many times were you dropped on your head as an infant?”“Oh, at least three I’d have to assume, but Luther's got me beat; I assure you. Seriously, though.”"I don't want to talk about it, Klaus."- - -Five is the traumatized youngest foster child of a recently deceased demon-in-a-father-mask with six older siblings and a conundrum of custody. The past has ironic ways of flipping the quarter.OrNo Powers, Fostered!Hargreeves AU where Five is the baby with a troubled past.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts, Number Five | The Boy & Allison Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Ben Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Luther Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy), Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 56
Kudos: 240





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first TUA fic! Fingers crossed...
> 
> This fic deals with some pretty dark themes, although they're not as explicitly discussed as they could be. Read the tags and move ahead at your own comfort :)
> 
> Title from Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's _Teach Your Children_
> 
> For clarity, here are the ages of everyone, as it is NOT in canon number order:  
> Luther - 25  
> Diego - 23  
> Allison - 22  
> Klaus - 19  
> Vanya - 17  
> Ben - 16  
> Five - 14

_Teach your parents well  
Their children's hell will slowly go by  
And feed them in your dreams  
The one they pick, the one you'll know by_

Five Hargreeves’ family is odd, mismatched and—according to his therapist—terribly dysfunctional.

Five doesn’t know why Lucille uses that word—not like they all haven’t considered it before, but it’s just so clinical, defining their household as broken, something fundamental their family can’t manage to even understand. Ever since she said it in their second session, it bounces around his head like a bowling ball ricocheting off its bumpers.

They all know the story of when Klaus was in kindergarten and asked to draw a family portrait, only to declare to the entire class he had no family with a big grin on his face like it was something to be immensely proud of (which began a week long tussle with the school counselor and almost involved Klaus’ social worker; Dad was in a mood for the rest of the month). If Dad ever heard one of them calling it family, they surely would have gotten an hour long lecture on how being foster kids really meant they had no families, because their biological parents didn’t want them. 

It’s still strange for him to think of Reginald in the past tense. Living half-suffocated by one man your whole life will do that to you, Five supposes. When he didn’t come down for breakfast that morning a week ago, they all knew something was terribly wrong. That man wasn’t late for a thing his entire miserable life. They ignored it the entire day. Allison sent Five, Ben and Vanya off to school and by the time everyone was home and Diego was cooking dinner, Reginald hadn’t even shown his face. Unsurprisingly, Luther volunteered to finally go check on him, the only one of them unconsumed by fear of their father’s punishment.

But Luther never faced any punishment. None of them would ever again.

 _"Reginald Hargreaves, billionaire and multi-time foster father, found dead in his bedroom on May 14th by eldest son,"_ the newspaper declared the following morning.

Five supposes it would seem dysfunctional, to an outsider, that when they found their father dead in his bedroom nobody’s first instinct was to cry, or scream, or go into shock, or at least call an ambulance. They all shuffled silently back into the hallway as a tension they carried for years evaporated from their shoulders. It was the best day of their lives.

When they finally did get around to doing something about the corpse that had once ruled their lives—Lucille claims that’s a dark way of looking at it, but like hell if that makes a difference when it’s the truth—Five, Ben and Vanya were each struck with the same sudden realization. He could see it in their faces. The panic of what next crashed over them in a tidal wave. Their older siblings seemed oblivious to reality; they were all over eighteen, and had legally been free of their father’s control for years. The younger three of them were not so lucky.

Vanya would probably be okay, since she was turning eighteen in just a few months, but Ben and Five each had two and four years, respectively, until they could escape the system. The possibility of being taken away to live in some other horror house without the support of their siblings was what Five imagined drowning could feel like. Agonizing and slow, the water savoring every moment of it swallowing you down.

Lucille’s straight posture and crossed ankles in the chair across from him should seem intimidating, and they did at first, but her little office with his secrets embedded into the cushy carpet has become something akin to comforting. Five slumps down in his own chair, wearing a bored expression to mask the swirling anxiety filling his chest. Lucille stares at him expectantly, but honestly, he’s completely forgotten what she asked.

“Five?”

“Hmm, yeah?”

“Have you or Ben talked to any of the others about options?”

Five recoils, nose scrunching up in the same way Diego’s does, shoulders bunched like a mirror of Allison. It’s been little over a month since he started therapy with Lucille and yet she still tells him all sorts of real-world babble that he never knew existed.

“Options?” He responds incredulously, nearly spitting it, not yet allowing any hope to blossom where the anxiety still resides. Per usual, he resorts first to scathing opposition. Options are a myth for people like him, stomped on by the world, dug in by the heels to the dirt. The look he is giving Lucille is positively menacing in his head. She seems indifferent.

“Don’t you think they’d want to get custody of the two of you, maybe Vanya as well?” Her expression still rests as a calm assurance on her delicate face.

He takes a moment to let this sink in. Five has always prided himself on his intellect; it’s how he’s kept from being constantly disregarded as just _the baby_. He’s only the youngest by two years, yet it's taken his mountain of knowledge and ease in school to keep up with his siblings, especially Diego and Luther, who are nine and eleven years his senior, respectively, and the most self-important hothead assholes of their entire family. Besides Five himself, maybe. When he learns something, something he thinks he should have known before, something that impacts his own life so greatly and could have saved him before Reginald ever died, it feels nearly world-crushing. Could they really do that? Could Luther or Diego, even Allison or Klaus, gain custody of Vanya, Ben and him? Could they finally be a family?

Why would none of them tell him that was possible?

“They could do that?” The words spill forth as if his lips no longer have the strength to hold back his thoughts.

“I’m no expert, and even I can tell you it wouldn’t be easy. They don’t always like placing siblings as legal guardians, especially if you’re not blood relatives. But given how important your siblings are in your life it could—“

Lucille’s voice is saying something above him, but with his eyes trained on the ground and static in his ears he can’t make it out. This should be a relief, shouldn’t it? The anxiety has dissipated, yet been replaced with an uncomfortable weighted feeling. Five’s chest feels heavy, like one of Luther’s dumbbells is resting on his ribcage. He doesn’t feel enlightened by this information, instead suddenly burdened with a new problem he hadn’t considered. He hates new information being sprung on him unprepared. He sort of wants to cry, but pushes that way, way down where he hopes it’ll never resurface.

“Five? Can you hear me?”

He blinks slowly. “Huh? Yeah.” His mouth feels like it’s filled with glue.

“Are you having another—“

“No, I’m fine, just,” he blinks, “surprised.” Not even he believes himself.

Lucille looks very considering, Vanya calls it the therapist stare, and is definitely doubting, but seems to let it go. Her eyes are still gentle; they don’t try to read deep inside his soul or anything, which he’s thankful for. A similar look from Allison would have him spilling everything without meaning to. Something about her gentle firmness, the soft tilt of her mouth, the shimmering of her eyes, unlocks his darkest places. She calls it big sister powers, even though it works on all of them, older or younger.

“Alright, well, we have to stop for today,” Lucille says, hesitating. “Are you going to bring it up, or would you like me to talk to one of your sibling’s about what we discussed? Whose day is it, Klaus’?”

“No!” Five says a little too quickly. 

Lucille’s eyes widen a fraction, but she lets him regroup. 

“I mean, I’ll talk to them tonight. Altogether,” he says with a finality that he knows he’ll have to stick to. For some reason he just can’t lie to Lucille. If he says he’s gonna do something, somehow he always makes it become the truth.

Lucille walks him out to the waiting room where Klaus is sitting sideways in a chair texting at lighting speed. When he spots them, he clicks send and pops up like a piece of toast. 

“There’s my favorite baby brother!”

Five grumbles. Lucille cracks a smile. She’s most fond of Klaus out of all of his brothers.

“First of all, that’s a dirty rotten lie, Ben is your favorite. Second of all, I’m not a baby you crazy—“

“No need to be so grumpy, short stack.” Klaus pouts, then scrubs painted nails through his hair before Five can dodge it. “Now let’s go, I’m starving.”

They say goodbye to Lucille and begin what Five expects to be the longest walk home of his life. Well, Five walks. Klaus does a strange skip-saunter that makes him look like a chicken with a rod up his ass.

It was Diego’s idea not to allow him to walk home alone. Reginald homeschooled them all, meaning the only time he ever really leaves the house regularly is to see Lucille. Their house has everything a kid could need—food restocked by a maid they've since let go, a huge library, a gym—everything except a father.

Five’s inexperience with the real world is their excuse for being his chaperones. He knows it's really because they don't trust anyone around their little brother after her. It was a heated discussion in their household for nearly a week, which ended in a schedule for what Klaus annoyingly calls ‘Five duty.’ It includes everyone, minus Ben, each assigned to a day when they meet him after his once-a-week session and walk home with him the three miles from the hospital to their house. The schedule works in order from oldest to youngest, because Luther’s not very creative and the last week of the month is the only Friday Vanya doesn’t have rehearsal or lessons. This week belongs to Klaus.

And for as idiotic as he acts, and appears, and dresses, Five knows Klaus is incredibly perceptive, which is probably why he and Ben get along so well when they want to. Klaus overdoes it nine-times-out-of-ten when he’s trying to cheer you up, but only because he knows it will usually work.

Five’s secretly grateful to him for it. He’s bad enough at accepting help in the first place, but asking for it is practically unheard of. Klaus doesn’t need prompting. It’s like magic the way he can sense something off about any of them from a single conversation or odd silence. It’s sort of creepy, but also extremely helpful considering they’re all emotionally stunted and terrible at knowing when they need support.

The fuzziness in his brain may be disorienting, but Five is still surprised Klaus has either not managed to pick up on his gloom or chosen to ignore it. He’s staring at his phone again, type-type-typing frantically, as if it’ll disappear if he doesn’t write fast enough. When he stops, he seems to contemplate waiting for a reply before apparently deciding against it and shoving his phone into his too-tight jeans.

“So, pipsqueak," Klaus ignores Five’s protesting noise, "are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, or will I have to find a way to lure it out of your lovely therapist?”

“How many times were you dropped on your head as an infant?”

“Oh, at least three I’d have to assume, but Luther's got me beat; I assure you.”

“Maybe, but he’s got a thick skull, and your brain is the size of an acorn.”

Klaus smiles, cheekily, and the satisfaction of getting a rise out of his little brother, not that it’s a difficult goal to achieve, distracts long enough for Five to panic over the question. 

“I was joking, of course, you know I could never do that to Dave,” he sing-songs, eyelashes fluttering. “Seriously though.”

“Seriously what?”

“Don’t be petulant, deflect-master.”

Klaus’ eyes take on a serious gleam. Smile turning sad, he loops a lanky arm around Five’s shoulder, pulling him close so they’re walking pressed side-to-side. 

Instinct makes him tense immediately. Unannounced touch does spook him sometimes, not that he's ever told anyone; he knows his siblings would be too afraid to even ask if he ever shared this with them, and the only thing worse than their constant craving for physical affection is being completely touch-starved. 

For once, the incident's long, delicate fingers play no part in Five's discomfort. It's his sudden fear of losing _this_ : Klaus’ casual side-hugs and dopey humor, Luther’s protective stance in front of him even when he loudly complains about it, Diego's patience with his temper, Allison’s hugs, and kisses, and unapologetic coddling that he outwardly protests yet secretly cherishes, Vanya’s listening ear to petty complaints with advice that seems as if it should have come from Lucille, Ben’s sharp tongue and intelligence to match his own, but most of all his understanding.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Klaus.”

Klaus turns his head, still holding them together, looking surprised that he responded without more bugging. “But you can always talk to me, y’know that, Fivey."

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

This is definitely not where he expected to head, working himself up into a tight knot of panic and overwhelming frustration. Five’s thoughts of the entire past week have been coiling up inside him ready to burst as he waited for an answer no one would give him. Now that very answer to his prayers has set him off. 

He shoves his brother’s arm off, and runs.

Not daring to glance at whatever concerned expression Klaus has taken on, Five bolts. He sprints fast and hard, ignoring the cries of his name. Buildings and cars blur by in his periphery as passersby shout indignantly for him to watch where he’s going. It’s too much, it’s all too much, but at least the dread in his chest has been covered temporarily by the burn of cold air shooting into his lungs.

The inky sky has melted in by the time he reaches home, huffing and puffing with a stitch in his side. He’s overly frantic in patting down his pockets for the house key with trembling fingers. Once the door is unlocked, he hesitates. Everyone (except Klaus, fuck, they’re going to ask) should be home now, scattered among the downstairs preparing for dinner. Diego stirring something at the stove, Allison sipping wine sitting on the counter, Luther setting the table, Vanya and Ben laid out in the living room reading a book or practicing.

Fear is not alien to him. They’re like old friends at this point, even from before the incident. It’s probably the deepest emotion he’s ever felt, and isn’t that saying something for a 14-year-old. Five is accustomed to a restricted chest and sweaty palms, just not when it comes to his siblings, never them. They’re his safety blanket, his protectors when he doesn’t want it, his parents when he needs it most and refuses to admit it. How could they not immediately tell him they were going to fight to become his guardians unless that’s not what they wanted? Could it be, after all this time, that they don’t love him as much as he does them?

A hand clamps down on his shoulder and Five whirls around with bug eyes and raised fists. 

Klaus throws his hands up in surrender. “Woah, sorry. Should’ve realized we were so jumpy tonight.”

He says nothing more, simply swings the door open and lightly pushes Five out of the stinging night air into the warm house. 

It’s as if he’s stepped into another world. Going from outside in assaults him with homey yellow lighting and the clank and chatter of a full house. Everyone’s coats have been discarded messily onto the coat rack, and peering up at where the stairs disappear to the second floor shows only darkness, meaning everyone is down here. Allison’s spirited laugh streams out of the kitchen. Vanya’s violin weeps Schubert’s Fantasy in C from the sitting room.

The sound of Klaus shutting the door seems to indicate their arrival. Allison, still in her work clothes but barefoot and holding a stemmed glass filled with red, comes out to great them.

"Hey, boys."

Klaus raises his hand in greeting as he pathetically attempts to rangel his hideous jacket off. Five doesn't answer, busying himself with doing the same a little less chaotically.

"How was your session?" Allison asks, like that's such a casual question. She floats towards him and grabs his chin so he'll look at her, still smiling lovingly at him. All of his siblings are overly nonchalant when it comes to Five's therapy. That is, unless he actually brings up the subject of why he's there in the first place. Which he does not.

Five snarls. Allison rolls her eyes and lets go of him, turning to Klaus who's heading to the kitchen.

"What's with him?"

"Yeah, he's a little grumpy today. Probably all those pubescent hormones riling him up." Klaus squeezes Allison's biceps from behind and sticks his chin over her shoulder. They both chuckle and head off, most likely to harass Diego while he cooks.

Five stands, alone, staring at nothing in the hallway for a minute. Everything is business as usual it seems. Somehow he expected his siblings to act differently now that he knows what is apparently the secret of his custody. None of them know that he knows, yet regardless of his enlightenment, they're all treating him normal, too normal. There's no more coddling than there has been since the incident, no suspicious side-eyes observing his reactions, no extra distance either. If they don't give two shits about him leaving, they sure make it impossible to tell.

He remembers that the current dilemma applies to Ben, too. Five wonders if his older brother is just as in the dark about everything as he was. 

Ben's sitting sideways in an armchair, reading some hardcover book inhumanly fast as always and flipping a page practically every few seconds. He doesn't look up when Five walks in, so the younger opts to stand right in from of him. When he's still either ignored or unnoticed, Five forcibly lowers the book from in front of his brother's face so he's directly in Ben's line of sight.

"What do you want, Five?" Ben asks, bored. 

Five's frown deepens. "Did you know?"

Ben rolls his eyes, seeming to understand this is going to take a while and placing his book down open-faced. 

"Did I know what?"

"About our custody?"

The room seems suddenly silent even though it was so before. Ben's eyes widen, and he unsuccessfully tries to pretend otherwise. Despite being slouched over, his whole posture changes.

"I don't understa—"

"Food's on the table!" Diego shouts, interrupting whatever lie Ben was about to tell.

Without another word, his brother moves to get up and leave. Not having it, and despite being half a foot shorter, Five grabs him by the shoulders and sits him back down.

"Ben, I'm serious. Did. You. Know?" He growls.

Ben flounders for a moment. He looks side to side as if waiting for someone to come save him from his demonic little brother. 

"Well, I mean, I only found out recently, like a couple months ago. Klaus sort of accidentally mentioned it like he thought I knew already and—"

"Hey assholes!" Diego shouts again. "Get in here before Luther eats all your dinner!"

Ben takes that as his cue and slips away, leaving Five to wander in behind him, answerless and fuming, lest he be the next object of Diego's wrath.

Everyone is sat at the table already spooning out food onto their plates. One of the many bonuses of a Reginald-free home is there are no assigned seats at the table anymore. He used to require a very specific order by descending age, with himself at the head, Luther and Diego at his sides, then Allison and Klaus, Vanya and Ben across from each other, and Five at the other end as the youngest, forced to keep his eyes down the whole meal to avoid their father's hard stare. They removed the chairs at both ends of the table so that no one is singled out or more important than another. Diego suggested they get a different dining room table, one that is round, but they all know that's only because he already thinks of himself as King Arthur, chivalry and all.

Five takes the last open seat between Diego and Vanya and across from Allison. His sister hands him whatever dish is going around and he takes a single serving of it without paying much attention to what it is.

"How're the college applications coming, Vanya?" Allison asks, smiling at their sister.

College was a touchy subject of their father's. Unusual, considering his obsession with a well-rounded education. It's likely Reginald equated going off to university with independence, something he was a staunch opponent of when it came to his children. Luther never went because he still refused to oppose Reginald as a teenager. Neither did Diego, who wanted to enlist but was strong-armed into joining the police force instead. Allison was the first to break the mold. Dad wouldn't pay for her education, so she spent two years saving up working as a waitress and, with some help from her brothers, paid her own way to a community college associates degree in cosmetology. Klaus claims he's taking time to work on himself, which really just means mooching off his family and well-compensated veteran boyfriend.

"Yeah, I've got the basics done. Now I just need to narrow down my list of where to apply," Vanya says, chuckling nervously.

"Must be so hard picking good music schools in _New York_ ," Diego quips. 

Vanya reaches across Five to punch him in the arm, and everyone snickers, except Five, too busy shoving food across his plate forlornly.

"So, Diego," Klaus starts in that voice which precedes trouble. "I saw something interesting down at your place of _work_ today."

Diego chews his food mechanically, side-eyeing Klaus. The alarm in his eyes means he knows exactly what his brother is talking about.

"Finally stopped trying to get your dick wet with Dora after she rejected your wounded puppy act?"

Many things happen all at once. Luther chokes, Vanya laughs loudly, Ben drops his fork, Allison shoves the table and screams "shut up!" Diego, who hates being the center of attention for any reason other than praise, raises his knife like he's about to stab Klaus—who looks incredibly pleased with himself—in the jugular. 

"Who was she? Was she hot? Were they making out? Actually, scratch that last question I don't want to know." Allison demands.

Allison and Klaus' favorite subject of Diego-teasing by far is his turbulent love life. He dated Eudora Patch, a fellow detective and woman way out of their brother's league, on and off for nearly a year. They were sickening in Five's eyes, but he liked Dora well enough. She was kind, yet not afraid to take any of his brothers down a peg, which is always welcome entertainment. They concluded the breakup was their brother's fault despite Diego refusing to divulge any details. He's like that, accidentally destructive.

Klaus sits up straighter and laces his fingers together on the table, mocking decorum. "All I will say is she was cute, if a bit chaotic looking, and definitely less serious than Dora. Much more Diego-style by appearances."

"So, what, you're just done with trying to get Dora back?" Luther asks. He's mastered the half-uncomfortable, half-amused expression reserved for discussing his younger siblings' romantic lives. 

Diego drops his knife back onto the table to settle back into his chair with an air of irritation. "I was not trying to get her back, Luther. Our breakup was a mutual thing."

"You sure teased and flirted with Dora a lot for someone over his ex."

"You can shut the hell up, Ben." Diego points a less-threatening finger down the table. "And so you won't keep buzzing around my ears for the next week, her name is Lila, we met a little less than a month ago, and for your information I was planning on bringing her and her mother around next week to meet you all anyway."

The over dramatic reactions return, everyone cooing and screeching at their brother for his secret. Five's swimming laps inside his skull. The happy family act grates on him, shaving off the thin layer of softness he reserves for only his siblings.

"You all right there, buddy?"

Five snaps his head to the right where his eldest brother is staring worriedly at him with his dopey eyes. Leave it to Luther to be the perceptive one, of all people. 

Five clenches his teeth as everyone turns to fix him with the same pity, although they mask it better than Luther. Regardless of how cognizant his siblings are of his all-consuming hate for being babied or fretted over, they can't seem to help themselves. And he gets it, he does. He's not exactly _fond_ of what happened either. If the same thing happened to any of them, while maybe he would be more partial toward rage and revenge on their behalf, he would be constantly worried as well. He doesn't blame them for caring about him.

But it only serves as a reminder that he is different now, in some small way, and that things can never go back to normal.

"Five?"

"You okay?"

"What's going on, is it—?"

Five releases the fork he didn't realize he was gripping like a weapon. It clatters loudly onto his plate, startling even himself. He's a pot boiling over.

"Why have none of you said anything about my custody?" 

It feels like he's been choking for days and can finally gulp in some air saying those words. Allison, Diego and Luther exchange panicked glances. Klaus' eyes are wide and he stares down in front of him as if wishing to escape. Ben fiddles with his fingers. Beside him, Vanya's watching Five, not with empathy, not mirroring his confusion and anger, but with an understanding sympathy. Of course she knew, everyone but him.

"Well, it's just, we didn't want to shock you too much, that's all. You've been dealing with so much in the last month, and Vanya and Ben only just found out about their adoptions. We figured it could wait a little, that it didn't have to happen immediately and stress you out even more." Allison looks sorry, but mostly scared. She's essentially just confessed that they're going to give him up and she looks _afraid of him._

"Are you serious?" Five tries to growl, but his voice comes out wobbly. He turns his fiery glare her way while he can still feel the searing tears threatening, oh-so-precarious. "That's bullshit. You'll fight for Vanya and Ben, but not me? I suppose I'm nothing to all of you, just an extra seventh nuisance that came along far too late. I had a right to know if you were just going to throw me away, leave me to be swallowed back up by the system as a teenager when no one ever wants to adopt you! But I suppose I should thank you for saving me from the horror of knowing the truth, for letting me pretend a while longer that I actually have a family who cares about me. Thanks a lot for abandoning me."

Five shoots up, causing his chair to fall backwards into the wall, and rushes out of the room, not daring a glance at anyone. 

He sprints upstairs to his room and collapses onto his bed in a snotty, tear-soaked mess. It's the most pathetic, immature thing he's ever done, but right now he doesn't give a damn. It's worse, a thousand times worse that he's the only one. They wanted to adopt Ben and Vanya but not annoying little baby Five, Five with too much baggage already at 14, Five with an expensive therapist, Five keeping them from lives free of responsibility. 

Five the unloved burden. 

His chest burns likes he's been stabbed, and he realizes absentmindedly that he's having trouble breathing. Five's chest seizes in and out like a fist clenching his heart and letting it ooze out between the knuckles. He can't get enough air in. He coughs, hard, and it only makes the pain worse. The room is spinning twenty miles an hour when he lifts his head, making him stumble back, gripping at his chest and collapsing to the floor. He curls around himself and squeezes his knees as the only thing available to grip.

She was right. All those times she'd whisper in his ear about how she was the only one he had, the only one who ever really cared about him, it was the closest thing to truth he didn't realize he had. At the time, he didn't believe a word she said. He knew his family loved him and that they would care about him no matter what. 

But that's not true, is it? It never really was, apparently. What other choice does he have, if they're going to give him away, than to leave? Kick dust or be kicked out—Five knows he has to go.

Still huffing his own exhales, he grabs a handful of clothes, _The Elegant Universe_ by Brian Greene, and his phone, crumpling them all in one heap and stuffing them into the duffle bag Diego gave him when he tried to get him into martial arts. 

Five's an expert at climbing out of windows, and lucky to have the best access to the twisting oak occupying the back yard. He wears the duffle across his heaving chest and scrambles down its branches until his trembling feet hit grass. If anyone comes to look for him now, it'll be too late to brush this all away as a misunderstanding. The thought makes Five falter before he comes to his senses. He's 14, it's time he sealed off the sentiment attaching him to his foster siblings. The intellectual in him needs a strategy, and emotion only drowns his judgment.

The best way forward is away from the Hargreeves, that's for sure. Five steals away through the back garden and never turns his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much much shorter than the last one, unfortunately, and not as much goes on. I wanted to give ya'll something though :)
> 
> Enjoy!

She doesn’t hear the doorbell over the clips of Five from that evening replaying in between her ears. 

No one moved when he launched himself out of the dining room and went hurtling up to the second floor. He’s prone to hysterics and drama, which they’re used to ignoring. Even as a baby, he’d fuss at the slightest disturbance: Luther putting his shirt on inside out in a hurry to grab the newspaper for Dad, Klaus rolling a toy truck around too noisily on hardwood, Vanya borrowing his green crayon just before he wanted it. His rage is spontaneous and dispassionate. Five is not unreasonable, and has a goal in his intimidation, but it's frequent enough to be burdensome. Easier to leave him be to simmer down, because he’s mature for his age and usually good at coming out the other end of the red. 

That was how they found out about what happened. Six months ago, after he’d come home from dropping Dad’s mail at the post office later than usual—for the sixth or seventh day in a row—dragging his feet and seething, no one could come near him without the risk of losing a finger. For almost a week, he snapped and folded inside out, gnashing his teeth at any indication of human life. They should've known sooner; maybe they'd have caught her.

Diego, rightfully fed up but cruelly lacking empathy, ignited a shouting match that ricocheted off every wall in the house. Dad spent each minute not taken up by meals or sleep in his home office by that point, wasting away. It gave them more freedom, and the eldest of them had taken over running the house. But that night as Diego hollered and Five yelled to keep from crying, Reginald descended the stairs before dinner.

Diego, an adult who'd been free to live in his own place and never see them again for nearly five years, emerged from the kitchen with a split lip. And Five cracked.

Allison’s stomach is in her chest; this isn’t teenaged drama.

“Umm, what was that about?” Luther questions, lamely. Ben is glaring at his half-empty plate, but Allison knows it’s not because he’s hungry.

Vanya’s eyes are stormy. “Shouldn’t we go check on him? Does anyone even understand what he meant?”

"Yeah, nows not really—" Diego's baritone wafts in from the front door. The others are flitting around theories and worrying their dinner plates.

Allison rises, floats to the hallway and watches Diego's pursuer over his shoulder with her arms crossed.

"You've already canceled on me like twice this month, Diego. Girl's bound to get a bit suspicious." The woman at the door looks about their age, with cropped, multi-tone dark hair and buzzing eyes. She's got an accent and can't seem to help leaning her body weight toward him.

"Lila, telling you I can't make plans before they're set in stone doesn't count as canceling. You know I have a responsibility to my family, especially now that our father just died."

"From everything you've said, seems like you should all be celebrating, yeah?" She smirks, all spiderwebs and tar. "And isn't your little brother like 16? Seems like he should be able to handle himself by now."

"He's 14, not that it's any of your business." Allison retorts. Lila and Diego spin their previously interlocked stares to her. "You told her about Five, Diego? Really?"

"I am his girlfriend, Ms. Queen Bee."

"Exactly. We're in the middle of a family situation, so goodbye." She waves her fingers mockingly, hoping Diego will follow her lead and slam the door in Lila's posh face. He stands there, gripping the doorknob, peeking up at her like she's the older one and he's in trouble.

When no one makes a move to physically remove her, Lila's smugness expands. "Right, so now that I'm here—"

"Five's gone!" Vanya cries.

Allison drops all thoughts of Lila. She stampedes back into the dining room and finds Diego close behind. Vanya hops from the last two steps, returning from her failed braving of checking on their brother. Her eyes are wide and glassy, and Allison chokes on guilt.

Their's a rigidity to everyone's posture, like they've all been doused in superglue. Five may be the only one she touched, but her glossy fingernails chill all of their spines, each a victim in their own way. They have no idea who hurt their baby brother all those months ago, and that makes all the dread that much blacker. A predator prowls the streets Five's been released into with no way to know where he's gone or if she'll find him again.

"Okay, we've got to call the police. Five could be anywhere and—"

"If you'll remember, Luther, I am police, which means I know that would be way too much trouble and a waste of our time. We should split up to—"

"But Diego, what if he comes back here? He's been so restricted lately, maybe he just needed to be alone. We should give him a chance to be independent and make the right decision—"

"Klaus, are you crazy? She could be after him, there's no way to know if he's safe or not."

"Vanya's right. He's too vulnerable, even if he thinks he can handle it. We need a united front—"

"Enough!" Allison commands. As always, her word is law among Hargreeves, and the silence ripples through every sibling. "Our brother is in trouble, and as usual, we can't stop arguing long enough to think of a plan."

Luther, Vanya, and Ben look a bit ashamed. Klaus' cheeks are colored as they always are when he's afraid. Diego looks steely and forlorn, gripping Lila's hand—

"And you," she pivots on the stranger in their midst, "can leave. As I said before, this is a family crisis, not a circus for you to enjoy."

"Hey, I'm willing to help. You all apparently get into of enough family crises that I'm sure you could use it," she adds, and Allison's throat fills with flame.

Diego shushes the Bitch Barbie and ducks his head to whisper something to her before returning eyes to his family. "An extra person will only help us find him faster, Allison. She stays."

Everyone else seems to agree with Diego, so she has no choice but to drop it. They're wasting time anyway. 

"Fine, but you're keeping an eye on her. We have to go look for Five, so let's pair off. Luther, you take Ben and the car and drive around town. Diego go east toward the park, Vanya will come with me and go the opposite way. Klaus, stay here in case he comes back like you said. We meet back here in three hours if we haven't found him by then."

They break. Allison wraps a scarf around her neck, slips on a coat, and leads her sister into town. Five's out there somewhere, and as worried as she is, she trusts him to do what he thinks is best for himself. He wouldn't have left if he didn't have a reason, but perhaps he wouldn't feel so wound up if they weren't being his umbrella all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH who liked that umbrella metaphor? I've been waiting to use it in a TUA fic for too long. In season one I always thought the umbrella part (even though it comes from Reginald's factory) was just sort of... random. Never read the comics, but in season two I started thinking about how, in a way, them being The Umbrella Academy could have significance in the way that their stories always rely on protecting and helping each other—especially Five. He's the biggest umbrella of the series! I thought he could use one of his own :)
> 
> Anyway, turns out the "only one more chapter" was a lie.... I had too much more to say in this story! I'm considering even writing some one-shots in this universe by request, after this is finished. Would anyone be interested? Please let me know, especially if you have request/ideas!


	3. Chapter 3

Five wishes his coat had been in his room rather than by the front door. With the sky line melting out of focus, a color palette of blues and purples, the wind chill is picking up. A gust twirls up under his shirt collar, so he hefts his bag farther onto his shoulder and turns it up against the cold. 

Most teenagers who've been shielded from the world would find his predicament taxing. He's never met such a kid outside his family, but the truth is Five was never really shielded; he's been into the mud up to his sternum and covered the fancy uniform of his authoritarian with it. Reginald's barely a ghost, startling but without any power over who Five's become, a whisper on the wind of his childhood. Where he imagines other army general fathers turning their sons into sniveling, fearful creatures, Five's unique parentage and life experience combination crafted something too impenetrable to be put off by a little independence.

Although, it was different with her. When she reached out to his lapels, her hands didn't pass through him like Reginald. Her hands were rigid and cold and alive. That made her appealing, but more importantly it made her dangerous. Picturing her gloves dancing across his shoulder blades turns his chest into a led box. His stomach turns over once, twice, and Five has to plant his heels and dig nails into his palms. _None of this is about her,_ he reminds himself.

It's been nearly an hour. Surely, the people he formerly called siblings must have noticed he's gone by now. Perhaps they're searching for him, calling his name into the tumbleweed streets. His ringer got silenced as soon as his feet touched the ground, and they'll know that, so they won't have tried calling. Diego is a police officer, which is even more reason for them to be trying to find him clandestinely and without outside help. Five may have finally opened his eyes to how little they care about him and where he ends up but social services will come knocking at some point. 

In a huff of visible breath, Five carries on. He's far enough out that they'll need to cover a fairly wide area to catch up. He figures it's safe to stop for a while, calculating their estimated time for noticing his absence, arguing on a plan, and beginning the hunt. A tiny diner rises out of the darkened street like a headstone up ahead, and he slows his pace.

Griddy's Doughnuts is a pathetic little grease-spot with a flickering sign and a customer base clearly monopolized by truckers. Five knows this is the perfect place to hide out for a while, unassuming and grungy as it is. The Hargreeves don't notice it, but they tend to steer away from centers of common America. It's likely they were all born into poverty, yet being raised wealthy and secluded tends to re-wire you into something haughty. They wouldn't touch this place unless they were desperate, which clearly is not the case.

The grime-framed door screeches when Five opens it. The smell inside is only marginally better than the parking lot, trading piss and diesel for piss and cigarettes and coffee. There are a couple round, bearded truckers tucked under their hats in a corner booth. Five inhales the weed-stench so strongly he's convinced they must either be smoking it now, hidden in their sleeves, or were rolling around in it outside beforehand.

The one facing the door gives a sneer as Five passes the threshold, but he doesn't pay attention to them long enough to find out what his buddy thinks of this. A mousy woman with spindly blonde hair tucked behind her wrinkled face watches him from behind the counter, scanning for trouble or opportunity or exhausted curiosity, Five's not sure. 

The woman sighs, and stretches a tired smile across pale lips. "Something I can do for you, kid?" Five's close enough to read Agnes on her crooked name tag.

"Black coffee, if you wouldn't mind," he says in his most diplomatic tone while saddling up onto a stool at the counter. 

Agnes eyes him wearily for a moment, and after sweeping her twitching gaze around the diner once, she retreats through another screaming back door to the kitchen.

There are several moments of silence, almost peaceful, before Five hears the sound of one of the truckers rising from their crook. Heavy footsteps follow until the marijuana is curling around his neck in a color of garbage-smell. Five sighs, expecting this. When he turns, he finds the sneering trucker glaring down at him while the other watches from the booth.

"Can I help you?" Five asks, channeling Hargreeves snootiness.

The man spits and tests whatever he's about to say on the inside of his mouth. "Where're your parents, kid?"

"My real ones? Your guess is as good as mine, big fella."

"The fuck is that s'posta mean?"

The other guy rises. Though he's been quiet to this point, he seems to find his legs and approaches to lean oblong on the counter next to Five. His elbow is far enough over that if Five pivots anymore he'll strike him.

"Exactly what it sounded like. Now, since you've gone to all the trouble to start a conversation, could I trouble you for directions to the nearest motel?"

The two exchange smoldering glances. The smart thing to do here would probably be to try and call Agnes back in, but Five would rather be picked back up by a social worker than ask for help from another useless adult. There are approximately four ends this interaction could come to, and he'd prefer escaping unharmed without anybody like the police getting called—Diego's radio is always on.

A great wad of spit and pea-brain logic presses against the man's cheek. All the razored scruff and grease sitting in a fine layer over what he assumes is a face flushes red with anger. "Listen here you little smart ass, you can get the fuck outta here or I can make you leave."

The corner of Five's mouth raises in mirth. "And what could possibly be your reason for that?"

"We don't like no queers er' Mexicans around our spot," the sidekick rumbles, his voice much squeakier than anticipated, high and corrosive like rust.

Five's shoulders quake as he doubles over and rips a cackle so loud Reginald is surely roused from his ashes. They're staring at him, all serious, probably thinking they're just _bleeding_ intimidation to this pubescent trust-fund scrub. His hair falls over his eyes and his lips chap and his stomachs aches from laughing so hard; Five laughs and laughs and laughs until the truckers are edging disturbed glances in pot-glazed eyes. 

Agnes suddenly swings the kitchen door wide open and emerges with a muddy cup of something coffee-adjacent. Five sits up, heaving his breath, and watches his pursuers retreat like a couple of grounded little boys back to their booth. The cup is set in front of him, and Five swivels on his stool to reach for it. Agnes takes a second glance.

"You okay there, sugar?"

Five sips and savors the rush of bitter and sour between his teeth. "Sure am," he answers to the drink. Agnes purses her lips, but moves to a rag at the far side of the counter without further omment. 

He sits there for a moment, noting the swelling heat in his cheeks and the feeling of something even warmer on the side of his face. The coffee is set down, and he pokes at the corner of his burning eyes. His finger comes away wet.

\---

Darkness has frozen into place and the streets are hushed. Five steels past any alleys or driveways he encounters with quick steps, trying to avoid packs of seedy night-walkers. There's Hargreeves idiocy, and then there's a death wish, neither of which he believes he possesses.

This part of town is much farther than anything he's reached before. When Dad stuck him with the mail job, he'd take detours and wander aimlessly with his hands in his pockets to decompress. You were only allowed out of the house for non-errands once you were past eighteen, merely because Reginald could no longer force the older children to stay home all day. Five tried on numerous occasions—and siblings—to make a case for his side-along. He slipped reasons why the police station related to his history homework to Diego and complimented Allison's new looks once she'd entered cosmetology school hoping he could bum a ride to the library down the road, but they were never so easily baited. His freedom remained confined to the radius he could walk in under a half hour, until now.

The streets lie under a hum of absent noise. New York isn't meant for such peace, so Five feels all the vibrations of phantom traffic wizzing past his ankles to fill the space. If he strains, he hears the faint purring of gray plumes puffing out of an old exhaust pipe. It sounds old but well-kept, like a polished doll with the shiny face of blankness. Five shivers; there's something so familiar about that putter, that whistling like gloved hands across your shoulder blades.

Lucille's firm reminder is stamped to the back of his eyes, so he closes them to see it clearer. He feels the air rushing in and out of his body. The sidewalk pushes back as hard as gravity pushes his feet into its face. The clatter of trash-raiding animals crashes several yards ahead. But that damn exhaust pipe is still whirring along, gaining on him, the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention–

A hand sits down on his shoulder. Five wrenches from beneath its grip with all the strength in his upper body, tearing back from a ghost's incarnation. Twisting around, the very real and very pompous silhouette of that mid-century tea dress and gaudy angled hat stand before him.

He blinks, over and over, hoping she'll disappear into the night, but his brains keeps shouting _run, you idiot!_ His feet don't stir. There's a carousel spinning in his normally systemic head, but he can't get off.

"Hello, Five," the empty saccharine drip of her voice echoes. The 50's station wagon of a sleek cherry red sits behind her. 

"Deloris," he answers into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's number three, finally! I'm very sorry for such a big gap between chapters, but life happens! I love this story but it's unfortunately not at the top of the to-do list right now.
> 
> Rest assured, it _will_ be finished though. I'm thinking probably two more chapters!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments drown my lonesomeness. Give me your honest thoughts, let's have a conversation!


End file.
